


The dragonborn comes

by Darth1343



Series: The dragonborn trilogy [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: 0, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, Multi, Skyrim - Freeform, imperial - Freeform, stormcloak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth1343/pseuds/Darth1343
Summary: Being the story of a plucky young immigrant woman who came to Skyrim seeking fame, fortune, adventure, romance, and sex – only to find herself faced with a world-shaking destiny





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy me and my mate wrote this and still writing the others but hope you enjoy

The wagon lurched as it passed over a stretch of missing paving stones, jolting its passengers and causing Katrine Bouchard to awaken in confusion. She had dozed off after hours spent riding the dusty, creaking conveyance as she and her fellow prisoners were transported toward Helgen and “justice.” Her heart sank as she recalled her situation. How had she come to this? The young Breton woman had left her family’s home in High Rock only a few months before, following dreams of fame, fortune, glory, and the chance to meet some real men not the clumsy farm boys she’d been rolling with since the age of 15. Katrine had never felt as if she belonged in the rural environs of her birth. Women there got married, popped out a few babies, got fat, got old, and died. They never went anywhere, saw anything, or had any adventures. Better to die in a flaming battle than to wither away like that! So with little more than the clothes on her back and a rusty iron dagger (long since polished and honed to razor sharpness), she had left home and set out to reach the fabled, sprawling Imperial province of Skyrim. Then, not long after her arrival, she’d been captured in an Imperial ambush with a group of men who’d been trying to cross the border at the same time she was. Now she and three of them were riding this wagon, surrounded by Imperial guards, and on their way to an unknown fate. They rolled through the gates of Helgen, a small walled town with a stone keep and an Imperial garrison. Katrine had learned from talking with the man sitting across from her, a good-looking Nord with blond hair and beard whose name she learned was Ralof, that the gagged figure sitting to her right was none other than the notorious Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and the Nord rebel leader who had, so it was claimed, literally shouted the High King to death. The man sat glaring at his captors, hunched on the wooden bench seat, and did not look as formidable as all that. But Katrine knew the Imperials wanted this man’s blood, and her apparent close association with him was not going to work in her favor. As they rolled past the houses lining the road, villagers emerged to stare at the prisoners, some of them calling insults and threats. Then the wagon rolled to a stop and the lightly bound prisoners were ordered to hop down out of its bed and approach the Imperial officers receiving them. The officers called each prisoner by name, before ordering him or her to move over near an open area where a headsman’s block had been set up. As Katrine watched in horror, the horse thief who had been one of her fellow passengers on the wagon tried to flee, and was shot down by archers before he had run a hundred paces. Oh, this did not look good! The officer fixed her with a suspicious glare and demanded, “Who are you?” “Kat… Katja,” she stammered out. Even if her auburn-tressed head was about to be parted forcibly from her body, Katrine thought it would be a good idea to keep her true identity a secret. No last name. Many Nords didn’t have one, and many Nords were as pale-skinned and ruddy-haired as she. The officer referred to the list in his hand, then turned to the mean-looking female Captain at his side. “She’s not on the list,” he said. “What should I do?” His superior scowled, hard-eyed. “She goes to the block, the same as the rest.” “Katja” was ordered over to stand with the others. When all of the prisoners had been processed, the female Imperial Captain addressed them, announcing that they were all condemned traitors. She ordered a man standing at Katja’s left to step forward and kneel before the block. Oh, crap. This really did not look good! That sentiment was magnified when a huge, muscular man wearing leather armor and hood and wielding a gigantic axe stepped forward, and took the man’s head off with a single powerful stroke. Blood spurted from his neck, soaking the ground. A lot more would be spilled, before this day was over. Feeling sick, Katja stumbled forward when instructed to do so after the man’s body had been dragged to one side. She almost fell to her knees before the bloody block, her mind in a daze. But just as the headsman was about to lift his axe for another swing, everyone’s attention was drawn to a raucous roar. She realized she had been hearing this same cry occasionally ever since they had arrived at the execution grounds, but further away and masked by foreground noises. Now, the noise was earsplitting –and as terrified cries went up, an enormous, scaly creature with leathery wings, powerful talons, and a horned head dived from the sky to perch atop the nearby tower, sending a wave of panic through the crowd. By the Divines, it was a dragon! Katja had heard tales of these legendary creatures, even seen the skeleton of one once; but they had supposedly disappeared ages ago. Extinct species or not, clearly there was one live specimen of the breed right here and now, and it had disrupted Katja’s execution. Her fellow prisoner, Ralof, pulled her to her feet and shouted, “Run! Make for the keep!” Not sure which direction the keep was, she followed him to a nearby stone tower, leaving the headsman’s block behind without a trace of regret. Inside the tower, Katja found Ralof and Ulfric. Their refuge was not going to be safe for long, though. As they cowered on the ground floor, the dragon blasted a huge chunk of masonry from the top of the tower and they were soon dodging a hail of fist-sized stones. Ralof led the way up the stairs and said “Jump down into that inn and head for the keep!” He gestured at a now-roofless building below the hole in the tower. “I’ll meet up with you when I can!” Ralof was soon out the hole and Katja followed, anxious about breaking a leg or even just keeping her balance, with her hands still tied. But anything was better than waiting for the dragon to incinerate her, or knock the tower down around her ears. She jumped up onto the tower’s broken wall then hopped across a short gap, to land on the burning and partially ruined inn’s second floor. Then, thankfully still on her feet, she headed down the steps to the bottom floor and out through a hole in a wall, evading flames and fallen stonework. In a very short time, Helgen had become nearly ruinous. Piles of flaming rubble were everywhere, but the stone keep still stood firm and Katja hastened to it as soon as it came into view. All the while she was keeping a sharp eye out for the dragon or for any Imperials who might be wanting to resume their planned execution. The civil war in Skyrim had been a surprise to her, and Katja had no real leanings toward one faction or the other; but her recent experience with the Imperials had left her feeling a bit leery around them. The officer who had taken her name earlier found her in the courtyard and said he would lead her to safety (“ yeah right, so you can kill me later?” she wondered) but as they approached the entrance to the keep Ralof reappeared, and she followed him into it instead. Inside, they found the body of Gunjar, another of Ralof’s compatriots. Ralof used a dagger to cut Katja’s bonds and told her to take Gunjar’s gear. The heavy leather Stormcloak cuirass was a bit too wide in the shoulders and tight in the chest, but otherwise not a bad fit. She took boots and an iron war axe, as well. It was potmetal, really, but still a lot better than fists or fingernails in a fight. They needed to exit the keep through the dungeons below, but the gate was locked. Another gate, leading from above, could not be opened from this side. But a moment later that gate was opened and the female Imperial Captain who’d ordered her execution, accompanied by a soldier, came through it. Katja and Ralof were immediately recognized as escaped prisoners, and had a furious fight on their hands. Back home in her farm village in High Rock, Katrine had thought that she wasn’t too bad with a blade. She was tall for a Breton, lithe and agile, and in her sparring with Louis, her childhood friend and the son of the village smith, she had always come out the better. In her travels getting here, she had found that while she might be the hottest swordmaiden in Pied-de-Puce, the wider world held many with abilities far beyond her own. Like all Bretons she had an inborn gift for magic, as well. But there had been none to teach her beyond the basics, and as yet she owned but a single novice destruction spell. Now, coming up against these well-armed Imperials nearly cost her the life that had only recently been saved. Fortunately Ralof was a useful sort of fellow, and with his help the two managed to prevail. Katja searched the corpses of the two Imperials and came up with a couple of potions, a few pieces of gold, and a soldier’s pack in which she could carry other useful items she might encounter. Plus, more importantly, the key to the locked gate. She and Ralof opened it and headed down the stairs. In a storeroom below, they encountered two more Imperials. Katja was starting to feel a lot better now, as the excitement began to erase her fatigue and anxiety. This was, now that she thought of it, precisely the sort of adventure she had been hankering for when she set out from High Rock. Well, maybe there had been fewer headsmen and more handsome adventurers, not to mention exotic loot and lavish palaces, in her dreams. But the thrill of danger had awakened something in her, and she was avid to push on. After the Imperials had fallen Katja did a thorough search of the storeroom and came up with some food and other supplies, including potions for health, Magicka, and stamina. She acquired a better sword from one of their fallen foes, too, and some heavier armor. Her travels had hardened her, and she could carry hundreds of pounds of gear and clothing without faltering. on the next level down they encountered an Imperial torturer and his assistant in a pitched battle with two Stormcloaks. They joined the fray, and the Imperials were soon dispatched. Katja searched the bodies again, coming up with a few more gold septims and some other items. Ralof gave her a dozen lockpicks, and suggested she pick the lock on the cage containing the body of a mage, to see what else might be found. She hadn’t ever used a lockpick before, but her fingers were nimble and she soon worked out the technique to open this simple lock without breaking a single pick. The search yielded more lockpicks, and a spell tome. Katja could already produce a slight blast of fire using the Flames spell, and reading this book gave her Sparks: a little jolt of lightning that caused damage to a target’s health and took off their Magicka (the innate force that powers magical spells) too. This should prove useful against mages. Katja felt her strength and confidence growing as she and her little band proceeded deeper below the keep and into a natural cave. These qualities were tested shortly, as the next stretch of cavern proved to be full of Imperial soldiers guarding the area for their General, Tullius. Katja and her Stormcloak companions were forced to go on the attack immediately. She used her Flames spell to set fire to a pool of flammable oil that had spilled on the cavern floor, driving the Imperial to confusion. After killing one archer with her sword, she collected his bow and arrows, and switched over to arrow fire. It was not possible to bring down an enemy with a single shot and the bow was not a good weapon for close quarters, but it did enable her to soften them up from a distance, even perhaps from hiding. After clearing the cavern , Katja and Ralof left via a wooden bridge across a stream that ran through the caves. Moments after they’d crossed it, they could hear a roar from the dragon above and the bridge collapsed. No going back that way. Their companions had all either been killed or fallen behind, so it was just the two of them as they crept through the caves, encountering and killing some Frostbite Spiders. These were ugly brutes, each the size of a dog, aggressive and possessed of enormous fangs dripping with a lethal venom. Katja shuddered in revulsion and relief as they left the monsters dead and continued on their way. A little further along, Ralof put out an arm to stop her from continuing. “There’s a bear sleeping over there. See her?” her murmured quietly. Katja spotted the bulky brown mound of fur a few yards ahead of them, blocking the path to what appeared to be the cave system’s exit. “We’ll have to try to sneak by -unless you’re feeling lucky?” He offered her a longbow, superior to the short Imperial bow she had acquired from the fallen soldiers, along with a dozen iron arrows. What could go wrong? Katja nocked an arrow and carefully crept a bit nearer, wanting to be in good range. She had always been a great shot with a bow, if she’d never owned one as good as this one before. Indeed, she’d won all the archery contests at village festivals from the time she was about 12. Now that she had developed into womanhood, her ripe breasts pressing firmly against her pilfered Imperial armor, it was clear she was going to need to get back into practice and perhaps modify her technique. But she felt confident she could make this shot. The question was, would she be able to outrun the bear after making it? In, fact, she couldn’t. But the wounded bear was slow to wake after being abruptly roused, and while backing off Katja was able to hit it with a second arrow. It grunted, sighed, and collapsed in a pool of blood. She retrieved her arrows from the corpse, and also took its pelt and its claws. As she was out on her own in this seeming war zone, Katja wanted to gather in anything of value that she might be able to sell for gold. Shortly after that Katja and Ralof exited the cave. He thought it best they split up, he said. But he urged her to seek out Gerdur, his sister. She and her husband ran the mill in the nearby village of Riverwood, and he would see to it that Katja found welcome when she went there. She gazed up into his face, her dark sea-gray eyes meeting his blue ones, and gave him a heartfelt smile. Then she threw her arms around his neck in a hug that took the man by surprise. “Thank you for everything! You saved my life, and I won’t forget it.” Ralof soon disappeared down a trail to the north, and Katja considered where to go next. As far away from Helgen as possible seemed like a good idea to her. But where specifically? Riverwood would be a logical destination, but she wanted to do a little exploring first. She had acquired a map before setting out on her travels, and it still resided, folded up, inside her shirt. The Khajit trader who had sold it to her claimed it had magical properties, but she assumed that was just part of his sales pitch. Certainly, it didn’t have a lot of detail. only a few major cities, and some lines that were probably supposed to be roads, were marked. Katja got the sense from a look at her surroundings that, though the Imperials might feel that Skyrim was a province of the Empire, this sense of ownership had not inspired them to put a lot of effort into things like road-building. The path she was on was little more than a goat track, and a few yards further on it intersected a road marked by half-overgrown white stones. The stones were missing in many places and covered with dirt or moss in others, but it was an official road, stretching off toward the west. Katja decided to find out where it went.


	2. Falkreath

Katja continued down the ancient stone-paved road, her heart swelling with feelings of freedom and joy. Just an hour or so ago she had been at death’s door, and now she was healthy, free, and walking into a world of possibilities. She yanked a somewhat stale hunk of bread out of her pack and gnawed on it as she continued on her way. The area to the west of Helgen was forested and hilly, and she found it lovely. The region where she had grown up had been flat and agricultural, but here the landscape had a wildness that appealed to her sensibilities. Katja kept the bow Ralof had given her near to hand, along with the couple of dozen arrows she had left. There was little stirring in the woods as she walked along, but she did spot a stag darting in and out of the trees ahead and assumed a crouching stance. Hunting was another skill she’d picked up in adolescence, as the placid farm fields in which Pied-de-Puce was situated were surrounded by forested foothills, rife with game. Many a rabbit, squirrel, and other small game had fallen to young Katrine’s bow. Now she successfully stalked this enormous, hugely antlered beast and sent a steel-tipped arrow driving into him at the point right behind the shoulder nearest the heart. He didn’t fall immediately, but he was mortally wounded and Katja tracked him for awhile longer before ending his agony with two more well-placed arrows. Lifting the carcass to bleed it in the approved fashion was beyond her. The deer of Skyrim were huge, weighing (she judged) more than 500 pounds. But Katja skinned the creature for its hide, and sliced off as much meat, with her new steel dagger, as she felt she could reasonably carry. The rest she left as a gift to the foxes and ravens. She made a small fire and toasted a few steaks over the flames, wolfing them down. Katja was a woman of appetites, an athlete who needed to pack away plenty of food on a daily basis. Between her escape from Helgen with its attendant battles, and the butchering of the stag, Katja was feeling grubby beyond belief. She had been raised to believe that cleanliness was a virtue (though one often ignored at need), and when she came upon a small stream crossing the road she stepped aside and walked up it a few dozen yards to a small, crystalline pool. Peeling off her leather Imperial armor and linen underclothes, she stripped naked and went into the stream to wash the blood, sweat, and dust from her skin and hair. By the Divines, the water was cold! Refreshing, though, on this early afternoon in late summer. She sat in the pool and let the water sluice the grime from her body. Katja’s skin was smooth, pale, and spotted with small freckles, overlying a body that was curvy but becoming increasingly muscular as her active lifestyle had required more and more from her. She ran her hands through the wet, dark auburn hair surmounting her pubic mound, and let her fingers dive down between her labia, spreading them and allowing the cold water to carry away the stickiness. Mmm, that felt kind of good. Having been busy trying to stay alive for most of the past few weeks, she’d had very few opportunities to relieve the desires that came as naturally to her as the hunger for food, or for adventure. Perhaps the town Katja felt sure would appear at the end of this broken, ancient road would provide her with some relief. When she was arrested the Imperials had confiscated her dagger. But they had left her with the amulet she’d received from Selene, the Wise Woman of her village, back before she’d (eagerly) surrendered her maidenhead to that first clumsy farm boy some seven years previously. It assured that no seed would take root in her womb, and protected her from the several infections one was likely to pick up while spreading one’s favors around. On occasion, Katja thought it was her most valuable possession. Keeping alive with bow and sword were all very well, but keeping her freedom was of even greater value to her. Refreshed, Katja put her armor back on, wishing she had some clean underwear, and continued on her way. She came upon a wooden farmhouse, and took the time to explore it. The door yielded to a moment’s work with a lockpick, and it appeared at first that nobody was inside. Drunken singing drew her down the stairs, however, where she found an obvious bandit (as denoted by his attire) having a little party all by himself beside a hearth fire. She put a couple of arrows into him before he noticed she was there. Surely, bandits must be fair game. After the bandit had sung his last, Katja searched the room. She found various weapons to confiscate along with foodstuffs and armor, potions and gold. Also a note, apparently from this bandit’s chief, that directed her attention to a secret panel in the back wall. She opened it, but hesitated to go inside. At her current level of abilities, she didn’t fancy the odds going up alone against an entire gang of bandits. Better to go looking for some help, first, and come back later. The afternoon was still young, and after raiding the garden for some potatoes and other vegetables Katja continued on her way. Only a little further down the road she found a troll blocking her path. She had never seen one before, but had listened to many a fireside tale and quickly recognized it. She approached stealthily, then used her bow to dispatch it. Katja explored the troll’s corpse after killing it. It was just a beast, if human in general shape, smaller than her and covered with shaggy brown hair. Its prognathous jaw was filled with wicked looking teeth. She obtained the arrows she had used to kill it, along with a small quantity of fat (another alchemical ingredient, she knew, though Selene had not taught her much about alchemy). Katja continued on down the road as evening fell, beginning to get a little anxious about finding shelter for the night. But dusk had not yet faded from the sky when she came upon the gates of Falkreath, one of the major towns of Skyrim and the seat of Falkreath Hold. The gates stood open, but well patrolled by city guards. By now the hour was approaching full dark, and Katja was feeling tired, hungry, and footsore. Not to mention, a bit horny. It was clearly too late for her to visit any merchants, so she made a beeline for the Dead Man’s Drink Inn, located only a few paces inside the gates at the southern edge of town. She had a small but decent horde of septims in her purse, contributed most generously by the various corpses she had encountered (or made) since escaping from her execution -what seemed like a lifetime ago in Helgen. Katja walked into the inn, welcomed by the warm glow of hearth fires, and approached the bar at the far end of the room. The bar was kept by a severe-looking Imperial woman. Katja (the name by which Katrine was now coming to call herself even in her thoughts) introduced herself as she touched hands with Valga Venicia. The innkeeper was quite willing to part with local gossip, and Katja soon learned that Falkreath was the site of the largest graveyard in Skyrim, with some possibly supernatural goings-on. Inquiring about a room, Katja was told that the price was 10 septims. Not a fortune, but a bigger chunk of her current fortune than she cared to part with, just for a bed. Passing her hand briefly over her amulet, she ordered an ale instead. That was only 2 septims. Then she took a seat at one of the long wooden tables that ran down either side of the room. Katja was young, not hard to look at, and a stranger in these parts. She had not been sipping at her tankard of ale for longer than a minute or two when she was approached by a young Nord. He seemed eager to make her acquaintance; but he was a local, he didn’t appear to have two septims to rub together, and he reminded her all too vividly of the succession of clumsy farm boys with whom she’d vented her teenage lusts back in High Rock. She brushed him off with a smile. A little while later the inn’s bard approached her. He’d been making some pretty but unremarkable background music and was now on break. “Hi, I’m Delacourt,” he said with a winning smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before?” A fellow Breton! But in her Nord guise, she didn’t mention the coincidence. “I’m Katja. Just passing through. You’re the bard here?” Truth to tell, Katja had a big weakness for bards or musicians of every stripe. They might be a bit deficient in the martial arts, another area that was important to her in her assessment of a man, but they had this certain something. Delacourt was good-looking, with dark blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and blue eyes. He was dressed in gold-trimmed finery and carried a beautiful lute. He filled her ears with tales of the Bard’s College in Solitude, where she absolutely must go if she had the slightest interest in becoming a bard. Katja liked music but didn’t see in herself any particular talent; nor did the lifestyle seem more appealing to her than that of the warrior-adventurer. But she hung on his every word. He began buying her ales, in between returning to his duties as entertainment for the inn’s patrons. By the time Delacourt was finished playing for the evening, most of the locals had gone on their way back to their snug homes. Katja was feeling quite buzzed and a bit tired, and her horniness was beginning to slide into first place in her list of motivations. “You have a room here at the inn?” she asked, stopping just short of batting her eyelashes. He smiled at her rakishly, nodding. Clearly he imagined he had been fighting some kind of a battle, and had just won it. Since her goal from before they met had been to get him (or someone equally suitable) into bed, it was less of a victory than he thought. “What do you say we go there and have a drink?” he suggested, though no further drinks were required or desired. Katja agreed with a smile, and he took her arm as they made their way down past the tables to a door at the far end, opposite the bar. “Good night, Valga!” Delacourt sang out. He wanted to be sure it was known around the inn that he’d scored with the hot young visitor. The room wasn’t much: just about big enough for a double bed, a hearth, and a small table with a couple of chairs. “It’s lovely!” Katja exclaimed, taking a seat on the bed and bouncing on it suggestively. It didn’t take Delacourt long to hang the lute in the corner and join her on the bed. “You are absolutely stunning,” he murmured, moving in for the kill. She smiled demurely and pushed him off slightly, playing hard to get. But her intentions for the balance of the evening were aligned with his. She usually preferred to know her bedmates better, to establish a bond of friendship if not something deeper; but in this case, after all that she had been through earlier in the day, all she really wanted was a hard cock inside her and a warm bed to sleep in afterward. Delacourt planted a deep kiss on Katja’s lips, and she responded. Then he began unbuckling her armor. She helped him peel it off of her, then removed her own undergarments and soon sat naked on the bed. His eyes widened. This girl was not just attractive, she was beautiful! Provided you didn’t mind a few freckles, which as a Breton he emphatically did not. Her cheekbones were high enough to make him wonder at her apparent Nord nationality. She almost looked more like a Breton, with the Elven ancestry showing mostly in facial structure and the slight tilt of the deep blue-gray eyes. Her body was lithe and muscular, her breasts full and firm with erect pink nipples, her limbs long. Aroused, Delacourt hastened to pull his fancy tunic off over his head, then shed his boots and hose. Katja admired him in turn. He was surprisingly well-built for a guy who spent his days sleeping and his nights hanging around an inn playing a lute. It must be natural. His slim but muscular body was very lightly sprinkled with dark blond hairs matching the hair on his head in color if not texture, and the hard cock she’d been hoping for earlier sprouted, rigid and practically pulsing, from a nest of matching pubic hair at his crotch. All right! This was more or less exactly what she’d had in mind. Katja’s brain fuzzed by the ale, but nowhere near enough to mute her desire, she reached for him. As she continued to sit on the bed, she beckoned him near and found that rigid member jutting practically in her face. She started by stroking it, then took it in her mouth and began applying suction. He moaned, thrilled to discover that this chance-met beauty was talented as well. Katja had the thought that a guy like this probably saw a lot of women in the course of his daily life. She wasn’t the only woman in Skyrim drawn to pretty bards. So she expected he might be good for a bit more than the old in-and-out. She was not mistaken. She released him from her mouth, his cock quivering, and drew him down to kneel on the carpet beside the bed. She put a hand on the back of his head and pressed him close, her thighs spread wide. And he obliged with tongue and lips. It had been a long time. He had been at it, licking and sucking, for no more than a couple of minutes before the feeling within Katja burgeoned into a rising wave of wet heat and she climaxed. Ah! Oh, that was good! Her affection for her chance-met lover was rising, and she welcomed his satisfactorily stiff into her dripping vestibule only moments later. He was young enough yet to lack a great deal of control, and had plunged into her hot and slippery depths only a few times before he spasmed in ecstasy and deposited his load of semen deep inside her. With no consequence, thanks to the amulet. Delacourt fell atop her on the bed, then shortly wriggled around so that they were lying entwined with their heads on the pillows. “Katja! You’re fantastic! I… love you!” Yeah right, she thought. I’ll bet you say that to all the girls. He wasn’t quite the action hero she’d envisioned between her legs, filling her cunt with a cock somehow magically endowed with the power to send her to the moons; but he was definitely a cut above the clumsy farm boys -and for tonight he would do nicely. In fact Delacourt’s youthful sexual energy proved to be more than Katja had hoped for. “Got to start sleeping with older men,” she thought blearily after the third time he had awakened her for more passionate heaving. She had been feeling a need for sex, and that need had now been fulfilled several times over. The need for some sleep was now starting to dominate her hierarchy, and it was a great relief when he finally appeared to be sated and let her drop off to sleep. Fortunately, bards sleep late. At some point warm sunlight was streaming in through the window and Katja awoke to find Delacourt snoring beside her, lost in slumber. Good. She kissed him gently on the brow, not hard enough to wake him, and slipped out of bed to find her clothing. She wasn’t quite walking bowlegged, but not far off. Whoo, she thought, I guess I can check that one off my list. Katja emerged from the inn into late morning sunlight, another lovely day in the southern regions of Skyrim. She wandered up the street and soon found Gray Pine Goods, where she went in and sold what small loot she had acquired that was not immediately needed. The prices that she got were not what she’d hoped. Seemingly, she would need to spend some time in Skyrim familiarizing herself with the people and learning how to work her wiles on the shopkeepers, before she would be able to bargain for fair prices. Katja continued down the town’s main street and spied a smithy. She went in and introduced herself to Lod, the powerful middle-aged blacksmith. He offered to give her smithing lessons, but the price he wanted for training was beyond her means. She had already put in some time at the smithy of Louis’ father, Reynard, during her adolescence; so she knew her way around a forge a bit. With Lod’s permission, she used his tanning rack to tan the hides she’d accumulated and then used the forge to make a leather helmet. Hey, she was already starting to get the hang of this. Katja cut some of her spare leather into strips and used them to improve the Stormcloak armor and two or three bows she was carrying, thus enhancing their value before selling them to Lod. She now had a tidy little nest egg, some reasonably good armor, and some weapons that were not completely useless. With those and a decent supply of food and water, she felt ready to pursue new challenges. Valga had mentioned that it would be a good idea to stop off at the Jarl’s Longhouse before leaving town. Katja had already met the former Jarl, Dengeir, during her evening at the Dead Man’s Drink. Evidently he’d been deposed by his nephew, one Siddgeir, and relegated to a useless retirement in the honorary office of Thane. Jarls, Katja had learned, were the source of most paying work for adventurers such as she intended to be. So there she went. The Jarl was a surprise. For one thing, he was startlingly handsome. Well-made, black hair pulled back in a ponytail beneath a jade and emerald circlet, fine clothing, blue eyes. Not to mention an expression that suggested Katja was something he had just scraped off his boots, and an attitude of languor that cried, “I’ve fallen and it’s far too much trouble to get up!” She drew him out on a number of subjects, and his responses painted him as a useless upper class twit without a shred of honor or decency. Before he would even consider assigning her any tasks, Siddgeir told her, she must bring him some fancy mead from Riften –wherever that was. Katja checked her map later and found it was many leagues to the east on the other side of the mountains. Well, that wasn’t going to be happening any time soon. She added his request to her mental checklist, as well as another item that read something along the lines of “take that caitiff down when you get the chance.” Then she headed out of town on the road to the north, which she’d been told would eventually lead to Riverwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy leave a comment of what you think about it

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I haven't been updating the heartland fic I've been really busy and I've kinda lost interest in it but I'll try to update it soon and i hope you enjoy this and I'll try to update more regularly and remember to comment of what you think


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